


It Always Turns Out This Way

by azephirin



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Future Fic, Masturbation, Misuse of the Force, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, One-Sided Kylo Ren/Rey - Freeform, One-Sided Relationship, Other, Sleep, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:52:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5746222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Here I am, with my hand.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Always Turns Out This Way

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary from "[The Holiday Song](https://play.google.com/music/preview/Ttch5c5dfk6oaxopj6wvskuqmwa?lyrics=1&utm_source=google&utm_medium=search&utm_campaign=lyrics&pcampaignid=kp-songlyrics&u=0#)," by the Pixies.

He wakes from a dream of her.

The Supreme Leader would command Kylo Ren to rid his thoughts of her, and the Supreme Leader, as always, would be right. But she haunts him, and she has since the moment she woke up and unknowingly met his eyes on Starkiller Base. She is the only fit match he has ever encountered. He will have her.

For some weeks, as Kylo recovered, his body was too weak to sustain anything more than the effort of healing and, later, series of minimal exercises to regain his strength. But now he is fully restored, and just as his body’s abilities have returned, so too have its needs.

It’s a warm night, and he’s wearing only light sleep pants. He’s still hard from the dream. He tries to put his mind back there: he was standing, wearing his full mask and garb, and the scavenger girl, Rey, was on her knees, with her pretty mouth wrapped around his cock. His hands can almost feel the texture of her hair, glossy and thick, and in the dream he had tangled his fingers in it to tilt her face up to look at him. That raw power, bending before him—

Kylo pushes the sleep pants down to his thighs and takes himself in hand.

He thinks about pulling her up, kissing her, what she would taste like, her mouth and the soft points of her breasts. The crossed front of her tunic—filthy, worn rag that it is—would push to either side easily, and he could put his mouth on her nipples, suck them to hardness, lick away the salt of her sweat. Unwind the gloves, or sleeves, or whatever they are, so that the soft skin of her arms is bared. Unfasten her belt to touch her secret places, where she would be slick and hotter than the deadliest fire.

His cock is slick now, too, from his precome, and he kicks the pants off the rest of the way so that he can spread his legs. He sighs out loud, he can’t help it, and thrusts up into his hand.

The Supreme Leader tells them to direct their passions into the First Order’s struggle; Rey, Kylo tells himself, is part of that struggle. She is powerful, more powerful than she or anyone knows, and together they could rule the galaxy effortlessly. Their combined strength would end the disorder and disappointment that are inevitable to the Resistance. All she needs is a teacher. Him.

He imagines teaching her to suck him, teaching her what he likes, teaching her to rub the underside of the head of his cock while she teases the hole with the tip of her tongue. He would guide her head up and down, slide his cock in and out—and he has to slow down and take a breath, back off from climax, because the idea of fucking Rey’s mouth has him almost there.

He could teach her what she likes, too. She’s probably known only her own fingers, and never the touch of a mouth to her clit and cunt. He’s read about it. He could show her. He could spread her thighs, smell her, lick the rim of her labia and then seal his mouth over her clit. She would thrash under him, kick, cry out, and he would hold her hips down and keep at it. He would fuck her with his fingers—he thinks about how tight she would be, her internal muscles that would clench around him. _Please_ , she would beg, and he would give her another finger. He would make her come, shuddering against his tongue, and then he would sink inside her.  
  
His hand is moving quickly on his cock now, and he thrusts up, chasing the sensation. He imagines fucking her hard, fast, and the sounds that would come from her: high, urgent, desperate. He reaches down to run his fingertips over his balls. He can’t help moaning just at the light touch, and he wonders what it would be like for someone—for Rey—to put them in her mouth, to suck gently and trace her tongue over the delicate skin. He moves farther back, rubs his hole—there are jokes about men who do this, he’s heard them—but it feels so good, one hand on his cock and the other rubbing firmly, not quite inside. It feels amazing inside, at least according to certain forums on HoloNet, but he hasn’t been able to bring himself to do that yet. Would she touch him there? Would she think it was disgusting? Unmanly?

She’s a desert rat; she probably has no idea what’s unmanly and what’s not. He imagines her fingers are his, that his fingers are her cunt, that somehow he’s fucking her and she’s touching him at the same time, and he comes, arching up into his own hand, with noises he can’t control pulsing from deep in his chest.

Kylo collapses, wrecked, his pulse racing and his breath ragged. He lies there supine for several minutes, and when his heartbeat has slowed to something within range of normal, he cleans himself off with the discarded pants and tosses them into the floor. It means he’ll sleep naked, but that’s alright: the cool sheets feel good against his overheated skin.

He’s ready to close his eyes again, but there’s one last thing he must do: though Rey is not with him, he must find her, feel her presence before he rests. He has not yet attempted this search, but the dream was clearly a sign that he must bring her to him, even if they are not yet in physical proximity. Physical proximity can be achieved easily, and once Rey has felt their true connection, she will desire it as much as he does.

It is admittedly more difficult to find someone in the Force when that person’s actual location is unknown—but, Kylo reminds himself, the Force is ultimately a metaphysical entity, beyond and above such jejune considerations as geography. Their minds have touched. Kylo can find her.

And he does: her presence is bright, clear, unmistakable. She is asleep, and he senses the warmth of the body resting behind her for a moment until her dream washes over him: the same ocean he saw in her thoughts before, a vast expanse of tranquil blue, with a green island in the distance. The island draws ever closer, as though Rey and Kylo are flying together toward it, and the vision begins to resolve: no longer a mere dream, but a memory, with the bright heat of the sun, the lap of waves against ancient stone, and the clean scent of the grass—

Unwarned and unceremoniously, Kylo is back in his bed. It’s jarring, and the sheets are scratchy after the gentle air of that island; the silence yawns after the sound of the sea.

Insultingly, Rey didn’t even seem to wake up as she ejected him from her dream.

Caught up in the memory, Kylo hadn’t determined the identity of the interloper in Rey’s bed, but he can make an educated guess. The traitor, a disgrace to the order—doubly offensive, that he should dare take the place where Kylo obviously belongs. Kylo has never been inside FN-2187’s mind, but he has sensed him before, at the battle on Jakku, and it’s a matter of a few seconds to locate him with the Force and slip inside his sleeping self.

Rey is in his arms, and his nose is buried in her hair, which tickles a little. It’s slightly damp and smells clean, as though she washed it before going to bed. She’s tucked closely against him, and their fingers are laced together against her belly. Her breathing is even and peaceful.

So is the person’s behind FN-2187.

There’s someone else in bed with them. This person lies stretched behind FN-2187 and has soft hair that brushes the back of FN-2187’s neck. Kylo can feel the weight of one arm draped over FN-2187, probably with the hand resting on Rey. There’s another very slight tickle, against FN-2187’s back: it must be the light touch of chest hair moving almost imperceptibly as the third person breathes. Chest hair, on a torso that’s flat rather than curved, with the firmness of muscle. Narrow hips. A cock that’s nestled comfortably against FN-2187’s ass.

Kylo knows the Force signature, knows this person: Poe Dameron, the Resistance pilot.

And it’s then that Rey, awake and vibrant with power and anger, shouts, “I said get out!”

Kylo is alone again. He’s shaking—with shock, with rage, with revulsion. Not one but two others dare lie naked with his intended—and with each other. Kylo tries to leap back into FN-2187’s head, into Dameron’s, intent on causing a hemorrhage or an aneurysm or whatever he can manage, but Rey’s mental shields encircle all three of them now. Try as he might, Kylo cannot penetrate them—and then it’s as though the three disappear completely. As though that feral mudcrutch whelp is strong enough and skillful enough to remove all traces of herself and the scum that pass as her lovers from the Force. To make all three of them utterly invisible to Kylo Ren, master of the Knights of Ren, strong in the Force, descendant of the great Darth Vader—and utterly unable to find a traitor, a flyboy, and a backplanet orphan.

He calls his lightsaber to his hand, and with the first slash he has opened the wall of the room.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, please [reblog on tumblr](http://azephirin.tumblr.com/post/137501257284/fic-it-always-turns-out-this-way-sw-the-force)!


End file.
